Sometimes People Are OK Animals

After being sickened by so many sad stories, I find it nice to find one where people act in a decent fashion:

Cost of Freedom on His Way to Retirement

"Adios, Invasor"

This morning, I read this on one of the sites I frequent:  http://www.eurodressage.com/equestrian/2013/12/24/rafael-sotos-invasor-passed-away

The death of the great Andalusian stallion Invasor shows the power of the Internet.  Tribute videos are already popping up on YouTube. Of course, many great videos were already up. In fact, just yesterday, I rewatched Invasor's retirement ceremony on YouTube and wondered if the old fellow was still with us.

I show friends, riders, anyone who'll hold still videos of Invasor. Soto's seat no longer causes me to cringe. It's far from pretty, but the relaxation of one's horse is the best endorsement a rider can get.
I will always remember this stallion's utter calm, ears loose but attentive, while performing a passage well beyond exceptional.

Grand old horse. One I'll remember.

My Auntie Mame Moment

The late 19th C. Sears catalog ad above shows a ladies' saddle with a "leaping horn." The old style, one-horned side saddle allowed European and American "ladies" to walk and even canter along slowly on highly trained "ladies" horses, but the Victorians revolutionized riding for "ladies" by installing a second horn beneath the standard one. Equipped with two-horned side saddle, equestriennes could now not only gallop at speed and join men in the hunt fields. They could even, if the were high arousal sorts aka adrenalin junkies, jump fences, BIG fences. How big? The 1915 photo below shows Esther Stace with a lovely light hand on the reins clearing six foot six inches. Before the mid-19th C., side saddles limited riding for women to staid, sedate gaits. Now, suddenly the sky was the limit.

 I found these new, improved side saddles fascinating, So back in the early 70s, I bought an old, single horn sidesaddle and rebuilt it. Adding the "leaping" horn proved easier than I expected. Although I needed some help from a smithy to install the hardware, I was most pleased with myself and, after finishing, I put it on my mare and rode around the big barn at Fort Leavenworth. Once.

By the time I got back to the main door, I was terrified. Nothing happened. In fact, my mare accepted the new saddle without question, walking calmly the whole time. One loop around the barn shook me because, after only a few steps, I fully realized WHY women like Esther Stace could do what they were doing. I felt STUCK on top of my horse, STUCK as in TRAPPED.

I felt like Auntie Mame in the eponymous 1958 movie.  I wonder how many people who watch this wonderful old movie understand the scene where Auntie Mame, having lied about being a crack rider, tries to get out of going fox hunting in the South by telling her hosts she only rides side saddle. The hosts obligingly haul a side saddle out of the attic and Mame takes her first ride ever on a crabby, bolting gelding in an open hunt field. Instead of being humiliated, Mame arouses awe in her hosts. Having no knowledge of the biomechanics of riding aside, they interpret her upright, rigid terror as a fine seat and her screaming as enthusiastic Rebel yells. For me, it's the funniest scene in a funny movie.  

It's hard enough to get on a modern side saddle without help from a ground crew. Dismounting alone can reach something close to Mission Impossible status, especially if the rider lacks total relaxation. Stiffen up a bit and the rider's legs clamp her onto her saddle. In other words, falling off becomes harder than staying on. It's easy to fall off the old sidesaddle that just drapes a rider's leg over the top and lets the other leg swing free, but that second horn, the Victorian improvement, lets a rider wedge a leg in place between stirrup and leaping horn.

Even without a stirrup shortened to a jumping length, I felt utterly trapped and helpless. As quickly as I could, I eased my right leg over to an astride position, freed my left leg from the leaping horn side, and slithered off with a total lack of grace. My feet hitting the ground never left better.

For the first time, I understood the criticism that met the leaping horn when it showed up in the hunt fields of England in the mid-1800s. Critics argued women whose horses fell in the hunt field would be seriously injured, even killed. I've never heard of predicted disasters happening although I'm sure many injuries occurred since "lady-like" women gained the ability to gallop and jump their horses. Of course, most side saddle enthusiasts were and are more athletic than I.

I unsaddled my mare and packed my newly rebuilt side saddle in my car. During the short drive home, I happily realized I was simply not athletic enough for "lady-like" riding. Once home, I immediately listed the saddle for sale. It sold in days.  The young woman who bought that saddle reported she found the saddle "thrilling."

Of course, she found it thrilling. She was, like many top women riders, a recognizable type-- amazonian adrenalin junkie. This fits most of the side saddle riders I've known. The first one I met was a daredevil foxhunter who'd come to find galloping across country astride a bit too sedate--"boring." Sidesaddle fox hunting put a bit of zip back into her sport.

Since then, I've crossed paths with only a couple of side saddle riders and those women rode in the show ring on the flat. I'm not sure they fall into the same class as the side saddle fox hunter "ladies." Consequently, I'm happy to know there's apparently The Side Saddle Revival.

Considering the number of adrenalin junkies in the world, I'm not surprised about the revival. I'm in total awe of those nice "lady-like" sidesaddle riders, the ones with bigger balls than most sky-divers.

I hilltopped a few times, but if anyone ever asks me to join a hunt field side saddle--or astride--I not afraid to just say no. Watching a rerun of Auntie Mame is close enough for me.

More great photos of side saddle riding here: http://sidesaddleciara.com/tag/jonah-wragg/

Update: St. Nicholas Abbey

Had he been a gelding, even a good race gelding, St. Nicholas Abbey would likely have been euthanized minutes after fracturing a pastern during a workout in Ireland. However, St. Nicholas Abbey was not a gelding. Moreover, his sire Montjeu won nearly four million pounds and now ranks among the world's leading sires.

Better yet, St. Nicholas Abbey himself started 21 times--a most impressive number these days--and won just under five millions pounds. So this pastern fracture happened to a brilliant son of the successful Montjeu, son of the great Sadler's Wells, son of Northern Dancer, sometimes called The Kingmaker. In other words, while St. Nicholas Abbey's care is expensive and his survival still in doubt, his potential as a sire is incalculable. In other words, St. Nicholas Abbey's treatment  has been worthy of the Crown Prince he is.

Post by Coolmore Stud.

Same Horse, Different Colors

I love this style of carousel horse. "Jumpers" were always my favorites.

I'm not going to indicate company, location, or anything. This's just for fun.

Dot Horse

If you are both an Internet and a horse junkie, this news may appeal to you:

".Horse Domain Registry Service Offered"

I already have my farm name and another domain name registered, but dot horse appeals. I may well succumb.

Houdini Horse

Those who follow my Facebook page know already that on the night of November 14 a loose horse invited himself onto the low deck outside our bedroom.  The event terrified me, but this isn't a Halloween ghost story. Loose horses can endanger not only themselves but others, so this is a warning about the importance of being careful, about knowing horse behavior, and especially about Knowing Thy Horse.

At 2:20 a.m. on the 14th, some noise awakened me. I assumed one of our cats, who have me well trained, wanted in. As I lay in bed, thinking how little I wanted to get up, a loud thump brought me to full awareness. I rolled out of bed, parted the curtains, and looked down. No cat.

Then I looked up and the moonlight highlighted a huge, silver-outlined shadow a  few feet in front of the glass slider. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so the shadow looked like an enormous ghost. Narrow but tall, almost floating above two skinny legs. Then the head of the ghost flipped in a circle. I knew it was a horse, and not just any horse. That gesture, a move a friend dubbed "an Arab nose pirouette," meant Razz, my 14 year old Arab gelding had opened his gate. Again.

I gathered a handful of horse cookies and scurried into the night wearing a parka over my flannel pajamas. As I came around the corner of the house, he'd vacated the deck and retreated. Now standing outside the yard near the rest of the horses, Razz again lifted his head and stared at me expectantly as I trudged down the walkway toward him.

I knew my mistake. When I put the horses up for the night, I'd forgotten to snap the extra clip on the gate of Razz aka Houdini Horse, an expert at opening supposedly horse-proof latches.

Almost untouchable when I got him as a fearful five year old, Razz now approaches people eagerly, often with a sense of play. I saw the Catch-Me-If-You-Can-Swagger as he walked toward me. After his last escape, my indulgent but non-horsey husband chased Razz around for half an hour while I was at work. I'm sure Razz had a great time.

Well, Mommy don't play tag, especially at 2:30 in the morning. Mommy don't wait around either. I knew he'd come up and put his head down for a halter, but I'd lose a minute of sleep time while he realized  I wasn't going to play. So I resisted picking up one of the ropes and halters hanging by the yard gate. Instead I held out a cookie. Razz walked right up and took it as delicately as he always does, but instead of trying to catch him, I ignored him and began distributing cookies to the horses polite enough to obey curfew and remain in their runs.

Razz of course followed right behind me. When I got to the empty run, I walked back to his feed tub and tossed in a couple of cookies. As I expected, the gray ghost sauntered by me and stuck his head down. As he munched, I walked out, appreciatively running my fingers down his side. I latched his gate, and went back to bed. 

    

We live down a private lane and we have layers of fencing, but I still worry about horses getting out. Too many escaped horses injure themselves in unfamiliar surroundings, find too much feed, or wander onto roads. Endless disaster possibilities exist.  Luckily, Razz just climbed onto a well built deck. Only a few scrapes on the deck show he was ever there. 

Below, the evidence of a horse slithering across our smooth deck. 

Below, the Perp looking innocent, 

denying the need for the shiny new chain